Here and Now
by a.lakewood
Summary: It starts with a drive that leads to a kiss, then Dean's reminiscing about moments long past. And it all leads up to a moment in the here and now. WINCEST.


**Title**: Here and Now [1/1]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Exile on Main St., Pilot,_ and _AHBL_. Wincest.  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Word Count**: ~4200  
**Summary**: It starts with a drive that leads to a kiss, then Dean's reminiscing about moments long past. And it all leads up to a moment in the here and now.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N**: What was supposed to be quick and dirty PWP in the back of a car ended up becoming this.

**oxoxo**

It wasn't until Dean had slid into the buttery-soft leather of the passenger's seat that he realized how very _Sam_ the car was. Sure, on the outside it was feline sleek, an understated kind of power that you didn't realize the machine possessed until it was unleashed on you, zero to sixty in five seconds flat. And there was the quiet purr of the engine – nothing like the satisfying rumble of the Impala. Everything about the car was _Sam_.

Still, Dean wouldn't be himself if he didn't at least make _some_ kind of derisive comment about Sam's Charger. "Dude. It's like the General Lee's gay younger brother. You tryin' to tell me somethin'?"

It received half a smile and a shake of his head from Sam as he turned up the volume on the stereo.

Dean's eyes widened as he recognized AC/DC filtering smoothly through the speakers. "Okay, so maybe it isn't _completely_ douchey."

Sam's smile widened, dimples deepening. "C'mon. Let's go for a ride."

**oxo**

It was kind of strange to be with Sam in a car that wasn't the Impala after so long. Sure, there had been other cars along the way, ranging from a borrowed minivan of Bobby's to Ruby's stolen Mustang, but this was different. This was _Sam's._ The ownership of this car symbolized Sam's complete independence from Dean in a way nothing else really could – somehow, not even Stanford.

It hit Dean hard and heavy and he looked over at his brother in the dim light from the dashboard. Sam was smiling still and he slanted his fox-eyed gaze towards Dean. "What?"

"I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. What's up?"

Dean shook his head, turned his focus out the windshield to the brightly illuminated stretch of highway before them. "Nothin', Sammy."

"That look's not 'nothin'.'"

They were pulled off the highway and some fifty yards down a gravel road, the car coming to a stop in a cloud of dust, Sam's lips suddenly, _urgently_, on Dean's before he'd even registered the change of scenery out the windshield.

In that moment, Sam's mouth a slanted, wet heat over his own and the fingers of Sam's left hand curled into the collar of his shirts to hold him close, Dean could vividly recall the other three times he'd kissed his brother.

**oxo oxo oxo**

Sam's eighteenth birthday. John was off on a hunt, which wasn't a surprise, and they were stuck in a rundown house surrounded by woods on the bend of a quiet, two-lane highway.

Before John had left, Dean had taken the Impala into town for supplies. The case of cheap, domestic beer and the bottle of Jack weren't on his father's list, but on his own. Sam wasn't getting a cake for his birthday – he was getting _hammered._

So there they were, side by side on the crooked, creaking wooden stairs of their front porch under a moonlit, star-filled sky. Dean was wearing some old, dark red, threadbare and salt-and-burn singed t-shirt of Sam's and the same jeans he'd had on the past three days in a row because nobody had wanted to go into town for a laundry run. Sam was still in his best pair of jeans and somehow-still-white tee that he'd worn under the navy sweater he'd long ago abandoned somewhere between the dining room and living room after he'd gotten back from going out with a few of his friends from school.

They were talking and laughing easily, inevitable lulls in conversation comfortable instead of awkward. The past week had been a nice change from the way they'd been fighting and butting heads pretty much since Sam started his senior year.

Dean glanced at his brother sideways, knocking his knee into Sam's as he brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long pull. "This is nice," he said, keeping his eyes trained on Sam as he passed him the bottle.

Sam grinned that easy, deep-dimpled grin he got only when he was drunk and happy – and neither of which happened often. He took a drink from the bottle that rivaled Dean's, started to tip sideways mid-swallow and was caught by Dean's shoulder. The dimpled smile returned and he handed the whiskey back, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist. "This is perfect," Sam said, gaze catching and holding Dean's.

It was. It really, truly was. And Dean couldn't stop himself, leaned in towards Sam and closed his mouth over the place where whiskey had trickled from the corner of Sam's mouth down his chin, tongue tasting, tracing the trail up to Sam's slightly parted lips, covering them with his own. Didn't press further until Sam's tongue was tentatively darting out to meet his. Dean set the bottle of Jack down somewhere on the step to the right of his foot so he could get both hands on Sam – one slipping low around his back to grip the hem of his shirt while the other tangled in the long, soft strands of his hair at the back of his head.

They kissed long, slow, deep kisses for what could have been minutes or hours (granted time hadn't stopped completely) until they were both breathless and panting, their foreheads pressed together as they held on to each other too tightly, unwilling to let go.

Sam pressed his lips to Dean's, brief, chaste, mouth leaving a tingling trail in its wake, brushing against a day's worth of stubble as it trekked to Dean's ear and Sam sighed. Not a happy and content sigh, but one heavy with the weight of bad news. "Dean," he whispered, sad and broken as though the burden of what he was about to say next was too much to bear.

Dean turned his face into Sam's neck, pressed his mouth to the hollow where jaw met throat just beneath Sam's left ear. "Don't. Don't ruin it."

Sam shook his head, hands slipping around Dean's sides, fingers splayed, tips firm against muscle on either side of Dean's spine in the center of his back. "Stanford."

"What?" He tried to pull away enough to look Sam in the eye, but his brother held fast, clung tight.

"Stanford," Sam repeated. "I got in to Stanford."

For a long stretch of moments Dean heard nothing but the sound of Sam's quickening breaths and the bass-drum-thudding of his own heartbeat in his ears. This had always been one of Dean's biggest fears – Sam leaving – and, Hell, he'd done it once, already. One of the top three, right behind Sam dying on a hunt gone bad or otherwise getting seriously hurt. "I can't," Dean said, pushing at Sam's chest then pulling at his arms. "I'm sorry, I can't."

Once separated from his brother, Dean slid as far over on the step as he could, nearly knocking over the whiskey bottle in his haste. There was still a bit left. Not enough to make him forget the pain of Sam's news – probably the goddamn reason he'd been so happy all the time lately, counting the days – but enough to dull it for a while. He shoved off the stairs to stand, swaying on his feet like a tree in a windstorm before catching hold of the rickety bannister with one hand, the other maintaining a secure grip on the bottle of Jack. He slammed into the house, up the stairs, and straight to his room. He'd only made it inside the door, barely got it closed, before his knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, nothing but whiskey for comfort.

**oxo oxo oxo**

Dean had struggled the whole drive into Palo Alto, debating whether or not he was doing the right thing. There were a handful of other hunters nearby that he could call that would be more than capable in helping him search for his father, but none of them were Sam.

It had been more than four years since they'd seen each other, two since they'd talked, and Dean felt his brother's absence in his life like the festering of an open wound. Wasn't all that far off, really; the edges of that Sam-shaped hole ragged and raw.

It hurt to see Sam happy and in love, shacked up with the girl he was probably going to marry. Hurt even more that Sam seemed to feel it was some kind of an obligation to go with Dean to find their father. So Dean just put on one of his many masks, hid away the pain and sadness, anger and regret, and the million other emotions the sight and nearness of his brother brought up in him.

It was easy to fall back into the old patterns they'd had before... Before.

Even though Sam never quite looked him in the eye, never got close enough to touch or feel the warmth of his body, things were okay. Better, Dean guessed, than he could've hoped for because, if he were completely honest with himself, he expected Sam to dismiss him just on principle. But he hadn't and they were one step closer to finding their father with a set of coordinates.

Sam had done exactly as he had told Dean he would – he'd helped and the weekend was over, and he was tired and just wanted to go home.

Dean had to nearly literally bite his tongue to keep from telling Sam he _was_ home, the two of them side by side in the Impala just like old, better times. But he didn't say it. Sam had kept his word, so Dean would keep his and take Sam back to his apartment and his girl.

He'd only made it a couple blocks down Sam's street before he had glanced down at the watch around his wrist, noticed the hands frozen in time. His and Sam's goodbye had lasted a couple of minutes, a lifetime longer than their last one, and the time between what the clock on his dash said and the hands on his watch added up to about the length of that goodbye.

Dean whipped a U-turn at the next intersection, tires squealing in protest as they left behind evidence of their hard-won traction. He was back in front of Sam's building in seconds, caught sight of the flames licking from one of the windows of his brother's apartment as he climbed from the Impala. Everything was a panicked blur after that until he got Sam outside, away from the fire and smoke; it left Dean shaking with the memory of the last time...

Then Sam was in his arms, pushing him bodily against the side of the Impala, body wracked with sobs as he cried Jessica's name.

Dean wrapped his arms around his brother, hands moving in slow, soothing circles on Sam's back as he held on tight and whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Sammy, I got you. Wasn't your fault, couldn't've known. I got you."

Sam's hot, tear-stained face pressed against Dean's neck, fingers twisted in and clutching at the leather of his jacket. "'m sorry. So sorry. Never should've left."

"No way you coulda known, Sammy," Dean whispered fiercely, face buried in Sam's hair. "Not your fault."

"Never should've left _you._" Then Sam's mouth was trailing wet and hot up Dean's throat, painting a path of fire to Dean's mouth, lips desperately seeking and finding.

Dean groaned, pulled Sam impossibly closer as he kissed back, having dreamt and fantasized about this moment a million times over the past four years. But not like this. It took every ounce of strength Dean possessed to push Sam away this time. "Stop," he whispered in the breath of space between them. "Sammy, stop."

Sam pulled back, eyes wide and still damp with tears, a few tiny droplets clinging to the ends of his dark lashes here and there. And Dean had to wonder if that would've been the same expression on Sam's face if he'd looked back at him that night. Heartbroken and lost. But this time, Dean knew, those feelings weren't felt because of him. They were for someone else; that was why he couldn't let Sam do this.

"It's okay," he told Sam, looking him pointedly in the eye, gently squeezing the wrist of the hand that still held the front of his jacket in a loose grip. "_We're_ okay. Now, c'mon. Let's go."

Sam's hands lingered a moment longer, then he nodded and turned away before climbing into the car.

**oxo oxo oxo**

Two years of fighting the good fight again – just the two of them this time around, though – and it all came down to this. Sam's blood on his hands, Sam's body slumped heavily against his chest, and Dean couldn't feel a heartbeat or the expansion of his lungs as he breathed because Sam wasn't-

Sam wasn't breathing, heart wasn't beating, but he was _right there_ in Dean's arms, still warm, face still flushed from the fight he'd just been through.

Right there, tangible, yet...

"Sammy, no," Dean whispered, gently but frantically pulling Sam just far enough away that Dean could see his face.

Sam's mouth hung open, eyes half-closed and staring sightlessly right through Dean.

It felt like his heart had been ripped, still beating, from his chest. "No. Sammy. _No._" One hand tightly gripping the back of Sam's coat to keep him upright, the other going to his face, Dean's fingers leaving smudges of blood in their wake, grim reminder of the life that had just fled Sam's body. "No," Dean breathed, lips against Sam's tasting the coppery tang of blood his thumb had deposited there. "Don't leave me again, Sammy. Please. _Please._" He closed his mouth over Sam's, felt the hot spill of his tears over his cheeks as he wordlessly said goodbye.

**oxo oxo oxo**

He couldn't have been lost in his thoughts for more than a couple of moments, but Sam's left hand slipping between his thighs, palm rubbing against the hard swell of his jeans brought Dean back to the here and now in no time. He pressed up into the touch. "Fuck, Sammy." Bit at Sam's bottom lip and they both moaned.

"Promised myself if I ever saw you again," Sam said before his mouth went back to ravaging Dean's ferociously. There was a hollow thud as Sam attempted to move closer, scooting across the seat but kneeing the console between them in the process. "Shit. Back seat. Come on." Sam was already out the door and starting to climb in the back seat before Dean's upstairs brain processed that Sam was no longer beside him. "Dude, get _back_ here." He shoved the rear door on Dean's side open. "Now."

Dean was out of the car and back in it in record time, shoving Sam against the door behind him, Sam's head thunking dully against the window as Dean surged in to kiss him and they both laughed. He straddled Sam's lap and buried his face in his neck. "I've wanted this for so long," he whispered to brother's thrumming pulse.

Sam's hands slid up Dean's thighs and under his shirts in search of skin, ragged nails scraping as Sam curled his fingers into the warm flesh he found. "_God_, me too. Timing was always off." He turned his face towards Dean's, his bottom lip catching in a slow drag against Dean's jaw as he opened his mouth on a sigh when Dean rolled his hips down into Sam's. "_Dean._" His hands slipped around Dean's sides, causing him to squirm as Sam's fingers trailed over the ticklish hollows beneath his ribs, reached for the fly of his brother's jeans.

A hand on either side of Sam's shoulders on the seat, Dean shoved himself up to look down at his brother. "We really gonna do this?"

"I really hope so." Sam thrust up against Dean, letting him feel just how much he wanted it.

"Awesome," he breathed, mouth descending on Sam's once more before he set about pulling off Sam's shirts, only managing to ruck them up to Sam's armpits with the position they were in. "Thank God you didn't decide to get some kind of crazy-small hybrid," he said as he slid back on Sam's thighs to let Sam sit up enough to pull his shirts over his head.

"Over twenty years living out of the Impala, knew I needed something with _room_. Back seat big enough for the both of us is just a bonus. Woulda been a selling point if I knew we'd be here, like this, now." Shirts tossed to the floor, he started working on Dean's, but Dean stilled his hands.

"Sammy," Dean said, voice suddenly serious.

Leaning back on his elbows, Sam looked up at his brother. "What?"

Dean reached a hand towards Sam's throat and Sam tracked the movement with a curious gaze. "When did you...?"

Sam glanced down to the amulet resting in the center of his chest. _Dean's_ amulet. "After everything we'd been through..." He shook his head. "I knew you were just angry and upset and _lost_. Thought, maybe, you didn't really mean to- Hoped you didn't."

"So sorry, Sam." He crushed his mouth to Sam's in a bruising, apologetic kiss.

Somehow, in the midst of the kiss, Sam had pulled the leather cord up and over his head and around Dean's, the well-worn strand dropping into place around Dean's neck as gravity slid the amulet and a second pendant down to dangle between their bodies. "Kept it safe for you."

"Again." Dean's fingers slipped down the cord to touch the smaller pendant, what appeared to be a stone with a silver-yellow oil-slick sheen to it, an unfamiliar symbol carved into one side.

"It's a pyrite rune stone. Enochian symbol for peace."

Dean snorted a laugh. "After everything-"

"As shitty as _everything_ was, you wouldn't be alive if the angels hadn't brought you back. I'd probably be stuck with Lucifer in his cage if there hadn't been some kind of divine intervention on my part. So, yeah."

"You still have faith."

"Yeah. But I'm kind of lacking patience and restraint right now, so."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean pulled his shirts off and went to work helping Sam slip out of his jeans with a renewed fervor.

"C'mon, c'mon," Sam muttered, tugging at his brother's jeans as Dean kicked out of his boots to let them join the rest of their clothes on the floorboards. "Yes," was a drawn out hiss as Dean's hand closed around his dick in a loose fist, a slow, experimental tug upwards had Sam's hips lifting off the seat to follow.

"Fuck, yeah, Sammy," Dean panted, resettling between Sam's spread thighs on one knee as he leaned over his brother's body, still working Sam's cock with a now-firm grip, to kiss him deep. "Wanna- wanna fuck you. Let me fuck you."

"Yeah. Okay, yeah," Sam breathed, hands all over every inch of Dean's skin within his reach, one slipping up to the back of Dean's neck to hold his brother steady as he matched the thrust of his tongue into Dean's mouth with the movement of Dean's hand on his dick.

Dean switched hands, sucked the fingers of his right into his mouth to wet them with spit so he could work his brother open. He moaned around the digits. "Can taste you on me."

Sam's cock gave a little twitch in Dean's hand. "God, Dean." Then his breath hitched as Dean pressed first one finger, slowly working up to two, past the fluttering, tight ring of muscle at his opening. "Fuck, Dean. Yeah, _yeah_, right- right _there._" It didn't take long for Dean to find his prostate, each stroke of the gland making Sam's thighs quiver, made him press into the thrust of Dean's fingers.

Two fingers became three, then Dean's hand left Sam's dick to wrap around his own. "You ready for me, Sammy?"

Sam leaned up on his elbows, braced one foot on the seat to Dean's left and the other on the floor behind the passenger's seat for leverage as Dean positioned himself at Sam's entrance. "Yeah. Ready." He watched Dean press forward, felt first the heat of his body then the heat of his dick, then the pressure and burn as Dean breached him. His thighs trembled and he dropped his hips back to the seat, let his knees splay wide as he tried to relax.

"You okay? Want me to stop?" Dean stilled above him.

"No. No, I'm good. Been waiting for this. Keep going." Sam bit at his bottom lip as Dean slowly pushed on, in, friction from the drag-pull of skin on skin. Then Dean was buried inside him, head of his cock firmly pressing against that spot and, "So good." He tilted his pelvis up. "Just- slow, okay?"

"As long as I can," Dean promised, fingers of his right hand curling around Sam's left hip, thumb rubbing small, soothing circles on the jut of bone, as the fingers of his left sought out Sam's dick again. He stroke Sam the way he himself liked it as he let Sam's body adjust around him. After a couple of the longest minutes of his life, Dean gave a tentative jerk of his hips. "Better?"

Sam pressed his ass back into Dean's hips. "_Awesome._ Do it again."

Dean pulled out slightly, snapped his hips forward.

Sam's head dropped back against the door, movement of his brother's body against, inside, his tearing a moan from his chest. "Yeah, just like that."

Dean set a slow, languorous pace, but it wasn't long before he was thrusting into Sam with determination, chasing after the orgasm that was right there beneath the surface. He leaned over Sam again, hands on either side of his brother's head so he could thrust harder, deeper, and Sam's right leg hooked up over Dean's hip so he could meet his new, now-frantic pace. "Fuck, Sam. Gonna come," Dean ground out, mouth hovering inches over Sam's, tip of the amulet tracing wild patterns on Sam's chest. And Sam's hand was a flurry of movement between them as he jacked his dick. "You gonna come for me, Sammy?"

"Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, gonna-" The moan he let loose as he came hard, spilling hot across his stomach, disappeared down Dean's throat as Dean's mouth covered his, tongue slipping inside for a frenzied kiss.

"God_damn_. Look at you." Dean's hips stuttered and he stilled, arms shaking with the effort to keep himself from collapsing onto Sam, as he followed his brother over the edge.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's back and pulled him down, the mess of Sam's release spreading between them, Dean's dick slipping free from the tight heat of Sam's ass, as they settled across the back seat of Sam's car. "Ten years," Sam whispered, lips brushing against Dean's forehead as he spoke.

Sam didn't have to explain for Dean to understand. "Was it what you'd thought it'd be?"

Sam tightened his arms around his brother. "Better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Was _real._"

"Real awesome."

Sam's chuckle vibrated through them both. "Something like that."

"And, Sammy?" Dean lifted his head just enough to look Sam in the eye.

"Yeah."

"The car's not so bad, either."

Sam could feel his brother's grin against his neck. "Thanks, Dean. Glad you approve."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, wrapped in each other, sharing body heat and the occasional lazy kiss, until Dean leaned back up and literally peeled himself off his brother. "Dude, gross. I need a shower. And you need a shower. And I'm _starving._"

"We did work up quite an appetite," Sam agreed, catching his jeans and the ball of his shirts when Dean tossed them at his face.

"Good. Motel, then food." Dean pulled his jeans onto his legs, forgoing his boxer-briefs, and lifted his hips off the seat just enough to pull his pants up. His heavy-lidded gaze cut sideways at his brother as he watched Sam get dressed. "Mm. Maybe food _then_ the motel. Don't know if I'll be able to keep my hands off you."

Sam smirked, tugging one of his shirts over his head. "Always had a hard time controlling yourself, didn't you."

"But I don't have to now," Dean said, bumping his fist against Sam's shoulder as he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "So let's get this show on the road, bitch."

Sam flung his other shirt at his brother as Dean made a quick escape from the back seat. "Jerk."


End file.
